


With Great Power

by niðavellir (KingPreussen)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Peter Parker, Bottom!Wade, Canon-Typical Violence, EDM - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Music Composition, Secret Identity, top!Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 08:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14209563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingPreussen/pseuds/ni%C3%B0avellir
Summary: Wade watched him for a few moments, bouncing happily along with his music, one hand on his headphones and the other flicking switches and pushing buttons. His wild, dark hair picked up every color the lights threw at him; Wade was entranced.And then light hazel eyes flickered from the laptop screen and directly onto his.---Peter, who hasn't yet revealed his secret identity to Deadpool, takes his chance to get to knowWadewith his own secrets intact. When he's not pining after Deadpool he makes music.





	1. kodokushi

**Author's Note:**

> i was actually looking for some clint/coulson just about a week ago and accidentally found a spideypool fic and then i was like *pickles the drummer voice* im in here now. i binged the whole spider-man/deadpool series in literally one day
> 
> i would die for these babies T__T which of course means, bear with me while i feel out their personalities please! i am not used to writing sustained humor/silliness which is what the two of them live off of... so im easing myself in
> 
> i have been wanting to write an edm au for years now so i am very excited to share this work with you! expect sporadic updates but ill try to keep them pretty lengthy
> 
> oh and also im basing most of my descriptions off of chris bachalo's interpretations, especially peter. i wish bachalo drew my whole life.

The venue was already packed by the time Peter and his laptop arrived. He fiddled with the strings on his borrowed hoodie--careful not to pull too hard, because it was Deadpool's favorite and he'd probably get mad even if _Spider-Man_ was the one to ruin it--and peeked out behind the stage curtains.

Peter wasn't the only show of the night, but he was one of the two headliners. Even making and showcasing his own music for three years wasn't enough to keep him from getting nervous in the spotlight. He smirked to himself, twisting the hoodie strings between his finger and thumb; most EDM artists very specifically didn't use spotlights, probably for the same "terrible anxiety" reason.

The crowd must have been pushing thousands. Peter wasn't entirely sure of the ticket sales, most of that out of his hands and in Anna Maria's, but under house lights it looked like _millions_ of people were waiting. He heard a throat clear behind him and grinned, rubbing a nervous hand through his hair. "Speak of the devil," he said.

"And she shall appear." Anna Maria handed Peter a black leather case and then adjusted the lapels of her blazer. "Spare headphones."

"Oh, I didn't mean for _you_ to get them--"

"I know you didn't. Which is why I did." Anna Maria smiled up at him with her eyes closed, the picture of innocence; the sight made Peter snort.

He sighed, backing away from the curtain and tucking the leather case in the pocket of his ( _Deadpool's_ ) hoodie. "About an hour left, yeah?" He scrubbed his hair again, probably sending his casual look way past "bedhead" and into "unwashed." "For some reason I don't feel great about this one."

Anna Maria's response was one of the reasons Peter loved her so much. "Senses tingling?" she asked, looking concerned instead of shrugging him off. She knew when to be sarcastic and when to be serious, unlike a lot of other people Peter dealt with on a daily basis.

"Nah, not that kind of feeling. Just…." Peter shook his head and drummed his fingers on his laptop. "Just not great."

"Well keep me in the know." Anna Maria gave him a comforting pat on the arm before retreating backstage to do the _real_ work. Peter sighed again and resisted the urge to peek, lest he get nauseous.

Peter had been juggling his Spider-Man identity and school for years, so his life as a glorified DJ should come as a relief. He graduated college with a degree in biochemistry and an unhealthy interest in making his own music, especially when he learned he could make it as loud and sustained as he wanted to and listen to all of it on repeat. It kept him from pulling out his own hair and biting the skin off his lips, at least.

Stark, and god did Peter simultaneously love and hate that man, only knew Spider-Man's alter-ego had a degree in some sort of science or engineering. When he turned down a permanent place on the Avengers team, at least for the time being, Stark told him his degree would get him a good laboratory position in Stark Industries if he ever got tired of the superhero schtick.

So Peter, sitting in fallbacks up to his eyes, decided to spend his early twenties pursuing his love of music and maybe getting paid a little for it. His superhero duties were much easier to perform now that he wasn't exhausted from homework. Not to mention having the load lightened by his new patrol partner.

Peter quietly snuggled further into his hoodie. Deadpool bought himself the limited edition Spider-Man hoodie and wore it to patrol a few nights before. He left it on a rooftop so he didn't get blood on it--"I'd blow my own head off before I ruin _this_ , baby boy," he'd stressed--and promptly forgot about it. Peter was only wearing it for moral support… and because he could imagine Deadpool was hugging him tightly all night if he had it on.

Okay, so his little crush on the Merc with a Mouth was getting way out of hand. They didn't even know each other's _names_ , for chrissake. The only non-suit portion of Deadpool that Peter had ever seen was the bottom half of his face, and even then it was glimpses in the dark. Peter had no reason to be breathless and stuttering around that bloodthirsty idiot, and yet….

The first act began messing with the soundboard and the house lights went low. Peter shifted the headphones around his neck to his ears and spun away from the curtains.

* * *

"Fuck. Fuck!" Wade pulled his 9 millimeter and fired a shot at a dumpster, making another frustrated noise when it pierced right through. He kind of wanted it to ricochet and hit him in the face. _This_ was why Spidey wanted him to stop freelancing. Wade should have listened when he had the goddamn chance.

It wouldn't even be enough to weed out the unalivings from the intimidations. The potential job was to gather information about an enemy. Wade was very, highly interested at the start. It was essentially no work for a lot of pay. And then they told him his target.

Wade almost broke his promise to Spidey, not to kill on his turf. "I'm not doing it," is what he said in the moment, sliding the manila folder across the stupidly shiny chrome table back at his almost-employers. And then he shot the overhead light out and left the building without firing his gun again. It took a little while to get back to his nondescript backpack and change into civvies but by the time he did, fitting a Spider-Man branded baseball cap over his head and pulling on a black hoodie, the sounds of a search party had faded into the night.

Now he was laying low (relatively), trying to lose S.H.I.E.L.D.'s weak tail before going back to his apartment. They wanted him as well, for slightly more savory jobs, but still. He didn't like being under their thumb. 

Wade paused outside of what he assumed was an empty, defunct factory. There were red strobe lights spilling out of what few windows it had that weren't boarded up, accompanied by thick white smoke that didn't have any smell. Wade watched curiously as the lights changed from red to purple to blue, and back to red. Then he kicked up off of the chains holding the big doors closed and pulled himself through an open window. 

What was just faint bass from outside immediately became deeper, heavier. A bunch of twenty-somethings, some drunk, some high out of their minds, were dancing in the packed room. There were even a few balconies full of dancing and laughing people. Wade tried not to feel too out of place.

He moved around the perimeter of the room, avoiding people who looked too sober and flailing arms that threatened to knock his hat off. When he was closer to the middle, away from the locked double doors at the back and the front entrance lit with exit signs, he sighed and relaxed a bit.

Paranoia itched at him, telling him to keep moving, but something else held him exactly where he was. Well, approximately. Through natural party diffusion he ended up even closer to the stage, standing several feet away from the man behind the soundboards and brightly lit computer screens.

Wade watched him for a few moments, bouncing happily along with his music, one hand on his headphones and the other flicking switches and pushing buttons. His wild, dark hair picked up every color the lights threw at him; Wade was entranced.

And then light hazel eyes flickered from the laptop screen and directly onto his.

The speed at which Wade turned around and pushed further back into the crowd surprised even him. The thought of someone like _that_ , someone with such a cute face and smooth skin and obvious, crowd-pleasing talent, seeing _him_ … it made Wade want to try to ricochet a few more bullets off of that dumpster.

Honestly, the sooner he got out of here the better. Hiding in plain sight only worked for so long.

The upbeat, high-tempo music transitioned into something more sustained. When Wade chanced a look from under his cap, Hazel-Eyes was closing up one of the laptops on the soundboard table and clasping hands with another person on stage, seeming to chat animatedly with them. The person pulled Hazel-Eyes forward and kissed his cheek, and Wade didn't even have enough self-pity to get jealous.

Hazel-Eyes peered out into the crowd for a moment at the edge of the stage, looking for someone. When he didn't find them, he shifted his laptop more carefully under his arm and stepped behind heavy black curtains.

The dancers were starting to slow down along with the music, a few couples coming together to grind on each other and do other things that, in a different situation, would be right up Wade's alley. As it was, he sidestepped a few people until he was at the edge of the room again and walked toward a staff entrance.

Of course Hazel-Eyes was standing in the dimly lit lot the door opened to, sans computer, holding an energy drink. Wade didn't have time to back up and pretend he wasn't seen--Hazel-Eyes' hazel eyes widened in recognition.

"Fresh air?" Hazel-Eyes asked in a low voice, his expression fading into a playful smile.

"Something like that," Wade said and shifted his backpack before quickly shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

"Like my set?" Hazel-Eyes leaned back against the wall and blinked slowly up at Wade, seemingly uncaring that he was talking to a man who was _obviously_ trying to hide his face. Any normal person would be instantly skeeved. 

Wade cleared his throat. "Not really my taste," he admitted, and then took a step back. "I gotta, uh--"

Hazel-Eyes didn't miss a beat, standing up so he could take an answering step into Wade's space. "What _is_ to your taste? There's a taco truck half a block away that stays open pretty late."

The combination of eyes and hair and overlarge limited-edition Spider-Man hoodie and the offer of Mexican food almost swayed him. But then Wade forcibly reminded himself of his current mission: to get the _fuck_ out of Queens. Hazel-Eyes would run terrified anyway, if he had to see Wade's face as they ate. "Sorry--"

Hazel-Eyes took _another_ step forward, and Wade laughed a little hysterically. "Nah, _I'm_ sorry, man," Hazel-Eyes murmured. "I don't mean to push, but you have the most _gorgeous_ eyes, and I kinda just want to get to know you?" The way he spoke, like even _he_ didn't know where the forwardness was coming from, distracted Wade yet again.

"You don't want to know this," Wade said, but instead of pushing Hazel-Eyes away and leaving like he should have, Wade stood his ground. Hazel-Eyes grinned, his full lips making the expression slow and sinful.

"I think I do. I promise, the truck is right down the street."

Wade steeled himself for Hazel-Eyes' inevitable disgust and, hesitantly, nodded.

* * *

Holy shit. _Holy shit_. Peter _knew_ that was Deadpool he saw in the crowd, conspicuously _not_ moving with the music, and hearing him talk just confirmed it. It was the Spider-Man hat, with Peter's own signature that Deadpool had begged and pleaded for, that gave him away.

When Deadpool stepped out of the Staff Entrance, to where Peter was very carefully soothing himself away from a panic attack, Peter knew he couldn't let the chance go. A Deadpool who didn't know his secret identity, without his suit, both of them similarly vulnerable for the first time… it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

And now Peter was smiling over at Deadpool, watching him order chimichangas _and_ tacos for himself, sounding the happiest he had all evening. Peter quietly noticed that he himself wasn't feeling nearly as panicked anymore. Coming onto Deadpool, on an even keel, boosted his confidence like no one's business.

Peter handed two twenties to the cashier before Deadpool could even pull out his wallet. "On me," he said, quirking another smile that made Deadpool stammer. "Don't worry about it. It's thanks, for coming to the show."

"I didn't, um. Didn't actually see the whole thing." Deadpool kept his hands in his pockets--a nervous gesture?--as he spoke, tilting his head down to keep his face hidden. Stark and the rest of the Avengers had said something about Deadpool having scars, but none of their stories as to _how_ he got them added up, and Peter wasn't going to come out and ask him during patrol. Apparently they were so bad Deadpool felt the need to keep his face hidden even in the dark.

They picked up their food and Peter dropped his ten dollars and something in change into the tip jar without a thought. He might be regretting that in a week, when his refrigerator was empty and his next paycheck was in the ether, but for now he was riding on a high that he wanted to share.

"Didn't see the whole thing, hm? You live around here, then?" Peter asked, and then took a bite of his taco.

Deadpool just watched him, seemingly nervous to show the backs of his hands or his mouth to Peter. "No, I. I was passing through, and the lights…." Deadpool paused with a mildly embarrassed noise, as if that wasn't the cutest thing Peter had heard all year. 

"I see. Go ahead and eat, before it gets cold." Peter dropped his eyes to his takeout container and Deadpool waited a beat, and then picked up his chimichanga. "What's your name, anyway? Probably the first thing I shoulda asked, right?"

Across from him, Deadpool readjusted his hoodie and cleared his throat. "Uh. Wade. Wade Wilson."

Peter smiled at him encouragingly. "I'm Peter Parker," he said before actually weighing the pros and cons of giving out his real name. If anyone could hurt him with that information, it was Deadpool-- _Wade_.

"Alliteration buddies," Wade said, his grin obvious in his voice. Peter concentrated very hard on his food again, both to give Wade a chance to eat and also to slow the intense pounding of his heart. He wasn't sure he really _liked_ Deadpool like this, quiet and hesitant, but he was awfully adorable. "Listen, Peter, you seem like a nice dude and all, but I'm not--"

"Interested?" Peter's smile fell a bit but he tried not to let his disappointment show on his face. 

"No, not… of course I'm interested, have you seen yourself?" The flush of heat that ran through Peter almost made him choke. "I'm just. I'm not exactly a great person. I don't honestly feel like having you run screaming from me tonight, so I think I should, uh." Wade stood up from their little table and brushed his hands down the front of his hoodie before seeming to realize they were back in Peter's line of sight, and then he shoved them into the pocket.

Peter frowned, crumpling up the parchment wrapper to his taco in his hands. He hadn't felt the urge to pull like this since college. Maybe it was because he already knew Deadpool, and wanted a taste (literal and figurative) of the "man beneath the mask," that he stood up as well and put his own hands in his back pockets. "Can't say I get what you mean, Wade, but I'm not the type of dude to force his partner. You can head back to your place alone."

Wade's hesitation sealed the deal for Peter. While Wade searched for words, Peter stepped around the table and lightly put his hand on the other man's waist. "Or," he said under his breath, leaning so he was just outside Wade's personal space, "We can have a night at mine. No strings attached."

From his angle, Peter could faintly see the shiny smooth scars and more jagged pockmarks on Wade's jaw and neck. It was nothing like the stories the Avengers liked to tell him, of blood and pus and other intense skin gore. But if Wade was uncomfortable with it, Peter would take his earliest opportunity to make him feel the way Deadpool made _Peter_ feel.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Wade said with false levity; Peter held his breath at the sight of Wade's _adorably_ lopsided grin.

"Consider me warned," Peter said, hoping he didn't sound as smitten as he actually was, and subtly checked his metrocard was still in his wallet.

Wade insisted they keep the lights off, which Peter expected. He disappeared by the next morning, which Peter also expected. He _didn't_ expect the hastily scribbled, and then crossed out, and then scribbled again phone number on the notepad sitting on his desk. Peter spent the rest of his day smiling like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter is [kodokushi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4A4ZiZwPejY)
> 
> long time readers know i sometimes come back and do some edits post-publishing but i let you know if its anything big


	2. ouverture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was literally fighting to keep this lighthearted. everything in my writing experience wanted me to make it totally angsty and sad, which is why it took so long to get even this T__T (the story is going to be longer than i planned)
> 
> i hope you like it!

"Why does a mercenary have an Instagram?" Peter mumbled to himself around his toothbrush while scrolling through Captain_Deadpool's page on his phone. A text from Wade lowered over the top third of a photo of Deadpool posing next to an unconscious Hydra agent, the logo on the man's uniform mostly obscured but obvious to Peter. He used his thumb to pull the text open and then spat toothpaste into the sink.

_hell yeah petey pie movie night sounds dope as fuck_

The second text came in seconds later:

_netflix an chill if u get my drift ;P_

Peter smiled to himself, leaning his hip against the bathroom sink and texting Wade back. Three weeks after their private afterparty, as Wade gleefully referred to it after Peter's first text, they had met two more times. Both in the middle of the night, both just to fuck at Peter's shitty little apartment, but through text and occasionally over the phone Wade was opening up more and more.

Well, to a point. He still hadn't told Peter about being a gun for hire, or knowing Spider-Man, or _being Deadpool_. But they were the kind of omissions that came from being only three weeks into a relationship and not a little over a year like Peter felt they were.

After a bit of maneuvering to get dressed without putting his phone down, Peter was finally out of the Ninja Turtle pajamas he had been working in all day and into something slightly more grown up. He didn't own any lingerie or anything--that was really more Wade's thing--but a tee shirt that didn't smell months old and his tightest black jeans would have to do.

There were pros and cons to working as an artist. Pros: making his own hours, sleeping as long as possible every day, working in his Ninja Turtle jammies. Cons: those three pros had turned into an eighteen hour depression coma. Asking Wade over was as much to further their relationship as it was to get some kind of genuine human contact for the day. The sun had set low enough that Peter could theoretically ask Wade _out_ but he didn't have the spoons to leave his apartment.

Half an hour later, Peter heard a light knock at his door. "Darling dear! I'm home!" Wade shouted through the wood. Peter smothered the silly grin that was threatening to spread over his face and very calmly walked over, _definitely_ not running, to let Wade in.

"Hello, honey," Peter replied just as sweetly as he opened the door.

Wade smiled at him, earnest and adorable, from under his normal dark hood. "I was gonna bring pizza, but it would have been gone by the time I got here anyway," he explained when Peter let him in. He stood kind of awkwardly in the middle of the living room instead of making himself at home like Peter told him to the other two times he came over.

"Fine by me," Peter said. He stood in front of Wade, put his hands on the taller man's shoulders, and pushed him to sitting. "We can have a big breakfast tomorrow." The not-so-subtle request for Wade to stay over was met with nervous silence. "Or not. That's fine too."

"What did you wanna watch?" Wade asked, fumbling his hand across Peter's couch cushions for the remote without looking away from him. "Movie? Sitcom? Porn? You know, I'm probably the only man in the world with a _paid_ subscription to Brazzers, but what can I say? Those previews really left me wanting more--"

Peter could listen to Wade ramble about porn all day, really, but it was a lot more fun to climb into his lap and kneel over him. Wade's mouth didn't stop moving until Peter covered it with his own, gently coaxing Wade's tongue with his own and pressing them as close together as he could. As always, Wade let him take control, Peter pushing his hood back and tilting his mouth closer, but tonight he didn't even move his hands from his sides, like he was afraid to touch Peter at all.

Peter pulled away then, embarrassingly out of breath. "Sorry, I didn't mean to… _attack_ you like that."

Wade cleared his throat. "No sweat, Petey," he breathed; his eyes were dark and dazed, and Peter felt a jolt of satisfaction from watching him try to blink back his concentration. "This is the good kind of attacking. Not one knife in the mix."

Peter, who was getting hard from just watching Wade's mouth move, cupped the man's jaw in both hands and studied his face. "Who attacked you with a knife?" he asked, worried. No matter how much Deadpool promised Spider-Man he was more heavily vetting his jobs, Peter knew it would be impossible for him to go cold turkey on… unaliving.

"No one. Not today, at least, but you know how it is, right? You live in fucking Queens, you've probably been shot at more times than you've sucked cock. And I know the latter's at least twice, from personal experience."

"At least twice, sure." But living in Forest Hills as a child didn't really paint the picture of New York that Wade was referencing. Peter felt suddenly uncomfortable and moved off of Wade to sit next to him instead. "Really, sorry, Wade. I didn't just call you here for sex."

Wade, who had frozen when Peter got off his lap, was now pulling his hood up over his head again and hiding his face. "Well it certainly wasn't for my boyish good-looks."

"Who says it wasn't?" Peter put his hand on Wade's thigh and winked, internally reveling in the wide-eyed wonder Wade aimed at him. "It’s a little late to go to dinner but we can order in. I wanted to spend time with you, pants on."

"That's the worst way to spend time, Pete! I've never heard a worse plan in my entire fucked up life." Wade's expression was probably supposed to be teasing, but even Peter could tell Wade really didn't understand what he meant. "Can _I_ at least take my pants off? It's so much easier to scratch my balls when they're not all… confined."

Peter snorted, patting Wade's leg before pushing himself to his feet to call some takeout. "Take off whatever you want," he murmured. "I'd love to up my blowjob count to three."

Wade grabbed after him but Peter stepped back fast enough that he just caught empty air. "I like my tacos like I like my Pete-o's," he called at Peter's back. "So fucking hot!" Peter just shook his head and snickered on his way to his bedroom, going in search of his phone.

* * *

" _One_ headshot?" Deadpool whined, on his knees in front of Spider-Man with his hands folded. "Please, Spidey, I'll only unalive this one, for the rest of the week! The rest of the _month!_ Promise!" Spider-Man would have been exasperated--frustrated, even. Peter Parker could only think about the fact that twenty four hours ago, he practically fucked Wade into unconsciousness. Wade even stayed the night and made Peter chocolate chip pancakes, without pulling his hood up until he left.

"Deadpool--"

"What if I just… gut a few. I knew one motherfucker who held his fucking guts in his stomach for a whole goddamn hour, and he's alive as shit!"

"Deadpool, that was you."

Deadpool didn't seem to have answer to that. Peter stretched one arm behind his head, trying to touch the center of his back, and continued, "What did we agree last month?"

A heavy sigh over Brooklyn's nighttime traffic. "I can only headshot robots and A-team-sanctioned aliens. Fuck!" Deadpool dropped his pleading hands to his sides and hung his head. "You're unalivin' me, Webs."

"You'll survive. You always do." Peter began stretching his other arm. "You ready or not?"

Deadpool sighed again. "Yeah, I'm ready. You're lucky your ass is so perfect." Peter spared him a glare that he _wished_ Deadpool could see but could probably feel anyway. Eventually Deadpool stood up, brushed imaginary dust off his knees, and opened his arms at Peter like a toddler. "Carry me!"

"Fine. But don't squirm or I'll drop you." Peter turned his back--generally inadvisable when dealing with a mercenary--and Deadpool whooped excitedly, launching himself at Peter and wrapping his arms and legs around him like a monkey. He also immediately started squirming, inducing an automatic reaction in Peter that made him thankful he wore a cup.

Normally Deadpool would be chattering a mile a minute right in Peter's ear, but today, as he had been for the last week or so, he was relatively quiet. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Peter asked on the upswing, shooting another web at the next skyscraper and grabbing it with his hand to pull them forward.

"Never done a job for less than five thousand, baby boy!" Deadpool cackled, tightening his arms around Peter's neck. "I got at least ten thoughts at any one time, and five of them are explicit!"

Peter sighed heavily, glad Deadpool couldn't see his grin and mistake it for encouragement. "You've been quiet, Pool. Are you in any trouble?"

"Little old me? Nah, not more than usual. But it's nice to know you care!"

His normal running commentary started up after that. Peter dropped them off on top of a building as far west in Brooklyn as they could get without walking. "I don't feel anything just yet," he said when Deadpool paused for breath. "Might be a slow night."

Deadpool, who was now standing on his own feet beside Peter and staring out over the city, nodded. "Fuck yeah. That means we can get tacos after, right?" he asked, practically bouncing in place.

Peter wanted to say yes. Spending more time with the semi-reformed merc instead of moping around alone at home? Easy choice. But then he thought about Deadpool's newfound familiarity with his mouth and the shape of his lips and hesitated. "Maybe," he conceded. The city was never truly dark but if they could get away from the majority of the lights Peter could risk it. "If you're good," he added, gently punching Deadpool's arm.

"I'll be your little angel, Spidey. Pure as the driven snow. Like a virgin, touched for the very first time." Deadpool stood up straight and put his hands on his hips, posture resolute. "You think we should head to Midtown? Someone's always getting robbed in Times Square."

"Right." Peter turned to Deadpool, hoping he could read his smirk through the mask. "Last one across the East River is a rotten egg." Deadpool barely waited for Peter to finish his dare before he was off, leaping down onto the adjacent building's fire escape. Peter let him get a bit of a head start, listening to Deadpool talk to himself as he scaled windows and ran across rooftops for almost a minute before he was out of even Peter's hearing range. Then he shot a web and followed.

* * *

Wade didn't realize how obvious he was being with his worry, but Spider-Man calling him out in Brooklyn almost made him laugh in that obviously-guilty-hysterical way, and he was about thirty seconds from admitting there were bad guys out there with the express goal of unmasking him.

Spidey had to already know that, of course. He was one of the most private heroes in New York; not even _Wade_ knew his real name or face and, in his opinion, they were best friends. There were probably hundreds of people who wanted to know his secret identity, but not many with the money and connections to try to hire Deadpool himself.

A real best friend would probably inform Spidey of that… but, well.

Wade was a little afraid Spider-Man would take the opportunity to end their little farce. Knowing someone you worked with was harboring information on persons who posed a serious threat? Probably enough to kill any relationship, professional or otherwise.

It didn't help that Wade had… _something_ with some cute nerd from Queens who was a lot more toppy than he looked. He was distracted from systematically hunting down his potential contractors on two fronts: Petey and Spidey, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to just Work It Out like he normally did.

` When have you ever Worked Anything Out?` White asked, completely unnecessarily. Luckily Wade was so caught up in his own thoughts that he was able to mostly tune the boxes out.

"Okay, now you're really worrying me," Spider-Man said softly. His police scanner hadn't alerted them to any activity in the city and, after a short, nearly silent patrol of Manhattan, he was treating Wade with kid gloves.

_Trying to resist killing everyone who has ever looked at you wrong,_ Wade thought. "No need, webhead," he said out loud. "Denied a job, thinkin' 'bout where I'll get my next meal."

Spidey was too altruistic for his own good. His expression was devastated even through his mask, body language doing half the work: his shoulders drooped and he took a hesitant step toward Wade, raising his hand as if he were going to touch him. "Oh God, Deadpool, are you okay? I don't want you to hurt people but I also don't want you to starve!"

"Kidding, Spidey, don't get your webs in a twist!" Wade laughed it off, crossing his arms and taking a defensive step away. "I have plenty of money under my mattress. Enough to buy a whole taco truck, if I so choose. And speaking of tacos, didn't you promise me dinner? I gotta warn you, I don't put out on the first date."

Wade got the distinct impression that if he could see Spider-Man's eyes, they would be rolling. "This is definitely not our first date," he said, but before Wade could deflect with another joke, he continued, "More like our twentieth. But who's counting?"

Wade's brain, which had at least two independent voices and--he wasn't kidding--ten of his own thoughts bouncing around in it at all times, short-circuited. "You are," he replied weakly after a long pause.

Spider-Man stood up straight again and put his hands on his hips. "Dinner, then? You've earned it," he said in that new, soft way of his. Wade was so smitten that he didn't even try to make a dirty joke out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter is [ouverture](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukLwzQqKNRg)
> 
> my dumb ass: taak-- *del del del* taco. the adventure zone has ruined me for this fandom


	3. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so very much for your patience!
> 
> may is exam season, so i havent had the concentration to sit down and write a chapter for this! i do have a small interlude-like chapter that im sharing here
> 
> again, thank you!

Peter woke up with the worst dry mouth he could remember having, ever. He groaned and rolled over, away from the overly-warm body at his side, and tried to will himself out of bed to get water from the kitchen sink. Dry mouth meant dehydration meant webs at the entirely wrong consistency come patrol time. They'd be overly sticky and thick, and Wade did _not_ need more reasons to make filthy jokes about Peter's webbing.

He had just convinced himself to swing his legs over the edge of bed and walk to the kitchen when he felt an arm hook over his waist and pull him back toward the center of the mattress. " _Nooo,_ " Wade whined, tightening his hold on Peter.

Peter chuckled as best he could through his sore throat. "I'll be right back, Wade," he said soothingly, putting his hand on Wade's arm to pry it off of him. The rough, uneven texture of Wade's skin against his palm after so long sleeping and not feeling anything made Peter gasp and lift his hand, overstimulated.

The speed at which Wade distanced himself from Peter, moving all the way across the bed, made Peter blink in confusion. He sat up and watched Wade grab at the hoodie he had left at the edge of the bed, putting it on and practically hiding himself under the hood without looking at Peter once.

They sat in silence until Peter gathered his thoughts. "C'mere," he murmured, flopping back down onto his side facing Wade and reaching his hand out. "Didn't mean to scare you," he continued when Wade didn't move.

"Fuckin' kidding me? I should be telling you that," Wade said under his breath, still curled inside his hoodie up against the headboard.

Peter really needed to get up and drink some water. He was feeling almost dizzy with dehydration, which would be a problem in fourteen hours or so when the time came to go out patrolling. Instead, he shifted closer to Wade and draped his arms around Wade's shoulders.

"Dunno if I mentioned it, but I'm autistic," Peter said casually. Wade stiffened slightly beneath him. "I wasn't expecting so much… texture, this early in the morning." He used one hand to push Wade's hood back and kissed the bridge of his nose affectionately, avoiding a new, red scar between his eyes that looked painful. "I distinctly remember touching quite a lot of your skin last night…."

Wade looked up at him, dark eyes wide. Peter just smiled at him until Wade grinned back and ducked his head. For a man with a bloodthirsty, mercenary alter-ego, Wade was _adorably_ submissive in their relationship--and Peter felt quite confident in calling their six week romantic association a "relationship".

Unfortunately all of that talking was hell on Peter's throat. "Wait here, babe. I'll get us breakfast." He kissed Wade again, on the spot between his nose and mouth and then his upper lip, holding there until Wade kissed him back. Then he pulled back and finally got out of bed.

When he returned with cold pizza and a couple bottles of water liberated from his last gig to find Wade fully dressed in the sweatpants he arrived in, covered up to his chin in blankets. "Sorry, Pete," he said under his breath. "Didn't mean to, uh."

"Wade, I'm _fine_. I have to start a commission today so I won't be much fun in a couple hours. I want to spend time with you."

Wade was usually quiet in the mornings, less able to ignore the conflicting, sometimes shouting voices in his head, but this was a new level. The night before Wade was loudly, gratifyingly responsive, and now it seemed like he just wanted to escape. "Commission?" he asked eventually.

"Mmhm. Someone with a couple thousand to burn wants a short song and who am I to refuse?" Peter set the pizza box in Wade's lap and cracked open a bottle of water. "Eat up, before I eat it all!" he teased.

Wade flipped the box open and mechanically took a bite while Peter drained his first water bottle. Peter sighed and set the empty bottle on the floor beside the bed. "Alright, what's wrong?"

"Nothin's wrong."

Peter wanted to push, he really did. But Wade sounded so convincing Peter also kind of… wanted to believe him. Wade had a wide range of intricate emotions that were not being represented here, least of all worry. "Okay," Peter said lightly. "Wasn't kidding about the commission, though. I'm gonna be pretty boring soon."

Wade didn't lower his hood at all during their makeshift breakfast. Around ten he left, and Peter fretted for another few minutes before he could get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will have more of what wade thinks about the whole situation... and what about the hit that was put out on spider-man!?


End file.
